The Erth Dragons Book 1: The Wearle

by Chris D'Lacey

  Part Three

  Grendel

  and

  Graymere

  12

  ‘Herbs?’ said Gossana, twisting her snout in a way that Grymric found uncomfortable to watch. He had served many matrials in his time spent studying the healing arts, but never one quite as off-putting as Gossana. Those eyes, as changeable as the planet’s skies. And those sharpened sawfin scales that somehow felt like an extra set of claws she might use to slash through an old dragon’s neck. She had Veng in her bloodline somewhere, he was sure of it. He shook himself and put the thought from his mind.

  ‘The myss has suffered a great trauma,’ he said, squinting sideways at the female wearling huddled up at the mouth of the cave. She looked miserable. Worse than that, cold.

  ‘Herbs?’ Gossana repeated, as if she expected a great deal more from the healing dragon than vegetation.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Grymric, sweeping his claws over the rich array of samples he’d collected, all of them sitting in separate piles, well out of the wind. ‘The planet has an endless supply of green forms. I have still to discover what benefits many of them could have for us, but I’m certain that with a little time I can—’

  ‘I don’t have time,’ Gossana cut in, flexing her glistening claws. ‘I need something to raise her out of her melancholy. I was thinking of fhosforent.’ She snorted across the cave floor, making the nearest leaf pile dance. They resettled in a less than perfect heap. Grymric shuffled forward and tidied them again, being careful not to show any hint of displeasure.

  ‘I would not advise it,’ he said. ‘The properties of fhosforent are still unclear and it has never been tested in one so young. In her present state, even the smallest quantity might kill her.’

  He thought he saw Gossana raise an eye ridge, but did not care to interpret its meaning. ‘Of course,’ he said, before she could carp, ‘no amount of plant life could replace the warmth of a mother’s love – which only a matrial as experienced as yourself could offer.’

  Gossana snorted again. Her jaws were tightly clenched, but there was just enough movement in the skin around her mouth to show off her impressive fangs. Grymric noticed she was dribbling slightly and wondered if it would be impolite to ask if she was having a problem with her teeth.

  ‘She’s not mine,’ Gossana growled. ‘And she does not want to be. I cannot raise a wearling that will not bond, not even with the noble G’vard at my side.’

  These last few words were spoken with a high degree of irritation, leading Grymric to fear even more for the wearling. What hope did the orphan have if its appointed mother did not wish to raise it? And if there was no fondness between that mother and the dragon destined to be her companion, what then?

  Thankfully, he didn’t have to offer up a comment. At that moment, another dragon appeared in the cave mouth. Grymric was pleased to see it was Grendel, a female he had a great liking for. She took a keen interest in the healing arts and often came to spend time with him.

  ‘Oh, forgive me,’ Grendel said, bowing to the superior female. She threw a worried glance at the wearling.

  ‘I did not know you had a consultation with Grymric. I will leave.’

  ‘No…wait,’ Gossana said. That glance from Grendel to the youngster had not escaped the old queen’s attention. In a silky voice most uncommon to her she said, ‘Grymric and I were just discussing the welfare of the orphan. As I think you noticed, she is not what one would want to see in a dragon so young.’

  ‘No,’ said Grendel. She lifted her tail and ran her isoscele down the wearling’s back. The youngster shuddered and gave out a pitiful, but not ungrateful graark.

  Grendel looked up to see both adults watching her. Despite the wet trail running from her jaw, Gossana’s expression was as close to smiling as any dragon ever came. Grymric, however, had tightened his eye ridges. Displaying signs of affection to a wearling bound to another female might confuse it. He’d expected better of Grendel.

  She read his eyes and tented her wings in apology. ‘Something my mother used to do for me.’ To satisfy Grymric, she pulled her tail well away from the youngster.

  But Gossana, who ought to have been the one doing the scolding, stretched her head toward Grendel and said, ‘You may be able to help.’

  ‘Me?’ Grendel looked puzzled.

  And Grymric seemed alarmed. ‘In what way might Grendel help?’

  Gossana took a breath that bowed her chest and made her dark green scales clatter. ‘How goes your courting, plentyn?’

  Grymric almost choked on a ball of his smoke. He looked again at his pile of herbs, wondering if Gossana had accidentally ingested an overdose of the green stalks he knew to cause dreaminess. Plentyn? Why was she using the ancient tongue? To call a younger female ‘child’ was a sign of immense fondness – a quality no dragon would ever have assigned to the most fearsome matrial the Wearle had known.

  Grendel bowed in acceptance of the compliment. ‘I…it is only five days since…’

  ‘Since the Prime instructed you to enter a laying cycle,’ Gossana reminded her. ‘And no male has come to you yet? I find that hard to imagine.’

  Grendel floundered again, her neck scales flushing a light shade of green. ‘I…no,’ she said.

  ‘But you’re so…radiant,’ Gossana remarked.

  Another extraordinary compliment, but Grymric had heard a hiss beneath the words and realised Gossana had slavered her way through them. There was definitely something wrong with her teeth. He broke in nervously.

  ‘The matrial knows that Grendel is entitled to take her time before allowing males to court her.’

  Gossana turned and stared him down. The amber eye (the ‘kind one’, as some dragons called it) was suddenly glowing as red as the other, sending its sharp light around the cave. ‘Don’t ever tell me what I know,’ she growled. ‘Grendel’s eyes are as bright as new snow. And I see fresh lytes along her tail. Her heartbeats can be heard all around the mountains. Any day now she’ll start to sing. She is ready. And yet no males pursue her. And she comes here seeking advice from a healer? This can only mean one thing.’ She turned and looked at Grendel again. ‘She has already made her choice of companion and is actively avoiding all other approaches.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Grymric, flashing his tail. Now he did feel able to disagree. ‘Grendel cannot choose one male above all others. That would be absurd. I would expect at least four males to be presenting the Elders with their right to do battle to be her guardian.’

  Gossana raised her head so high it almost touched the ceiling of the cave. ‘Have I suddenly become a vapor? Did I or did I not just say don’t teach me what I know.’

  ‘Matrial, I…’ Grymric shrank into a huddle, his protests now as parched as his herbs.

  ‘Tell him,’ Gossana snapped at Grendel, her menacing eyes changing colour again. ‘Tell him before I roast his ears. Tell him how your second heart beats for one dragon. Tell him what colour that dragon is.’

  ‘Blue,’ Grendel admitted weakly. She looked at the sky as if to remind herself.

  ‘Hear that, healer? She desires a blue.’

  ‘A BLUE?’ said Grymric, coughing up a long-dead cinder. There were only two blues he could bring to mind: Goodle, who had an excellent bloodline but was a little immature to court a dragon like Grendel, and… ‘Not G— Not Abrial?’

  Grendel rolled her upper lip.

  ‘I saw the signs during Galarhade’s address,’ Gossana said, raking one foot with the claws of the other. A web of saliva fell from her jaw. ‘Our future queen was making glances at a dragon who is now little more than a renegade.’

  ‘That’s unfair and you know it,’ Grendel said, her voice approaching the pitch of a roar. The sound boomed around the walls, alarming the wearling and causing her to flap. Grendel immediately corrected herself and leant nearer t
o the youngster, blowing warm air along her back to soothe her. ‘I don’t believe Gabrial killed Grystina. I know him. We grew up together. He’s gentle.’

  Gossana snorted again. ‘Not a quality most queens would want in their companion.’

  Grymric interceded with a heavy sigh. ‘This is not good. Not good at all.’ He was pacing back and forth now, swishing his tail. ‘The Elders will not allow this match.’

  ‘Indeed they will not,’ Gossana agreed, and yet there was a strangely triumphant tone floating just under her words. ‘That leaves us very few options.’

  ‘Us?’ said Grendel, growling again.

  ‘Would you put aside my help?’ Gossana said. ‘Oh yes, the healer has his potions, but he does not understand the hearts of a queen. With Grystina gone, who else can advise you?’

  ‘I do not want your help,’ said Grendel, causing Grymric to jump in again.

  He stood between them. ‘What does Gossana propose?’

  The old queen flexed her neck, easing the tired muscles in her shoulders. ‘How do you live in this cramped little hole?’ Grymric started to answer, but Gossana waved an arm to say the question did not require a response. ‘Grendel has two choices, both of which will anger Prime Galarhade. Either she persists in this folly and calls the blue to her, which will bring shame on her bloodline and cause others to question Galarhade’s decision to let her be courted, or she allows me to speak to the Elders on her behalf so that the issue might be…resolved.’

  ‘Resolved?’ said Grendel, her nostrils widening. She pushed forward a little as if she’d like to bite off Gossana’s head. She looked at Grymric. The fine scales above his eyes were almost cracking.

  ‘Love is a complex emotion,’ said Gossana, before the healer could speak again. ‘If a female admits her affinity for a male, rather than wait for the strongest to fight for her, the process is hard to reverse. For the good of the Wearle, Grendel’s liking for…Abrial’ – she lashed her tongue around the name as though to flick away a sour taste – ‘should not be denied—’

  ‘But he’s virtually an exile,’ Grymric said. ‘How—?’

  ‘I haven’t finished,’ Gossana snorted.

  Grymric shuffled back again, glad, for once, of the comforting shadows his ‘cramped hole’ offered.

  Gossana picked up her thread. ‘But neither should the match be encouraged at this stage. If the blue should demonstrate his worthiness again, Grendel could yet accept him – though he would be forced to fight for her, of course, once other dragons declare their interest.’

  ‘But who knows how long that might take?’ said Grymric. ‘Grendel has entered her laying cycle. It could be damaging to her if the feelings she embraces are not played out.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gossana, still irked that Grymric was telling her her business, ‘but it is an outcome easily prevented. It is not too late for Grendel’s feelings to be…diverted.’

  ‘Diverted?’ said the healer. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She means to give up the myss,’ said Grendel, beginning to understand where this was leading. ‘She wants me to foster the wearling for her, so that Gossana might be free to be a queen again.’

  ‘She…? You…? Exchange places?’ Grymric shook his head so hard that his stigs looked in danger of falling off. ‘Oh, no, no, no, no, no. That cannot happen. The Prime has made his decision. He—’

  ‘I will speak to Galarhade,’ Gossana cut in. ‘I will tell him that Grendel had already developed feelings for the blue before the quake that shook Mount Vargos, but was too overcome with grief and confusion to inform the Elders at that time. I will add that she has struggled to alter her affections and has wisely sought my advice. We, that is Grymric and I, having discussed the matter further and noted the fondness Grendel has for the orphan, are agreed that she, in her present state, should foster the myss – with my ongoing support, of course.’

  Grendel sighed and looked down at the youngster. It had started to rain and the wearmyss was making no attempt to avoid the drops. ‘This is most irregular,’ Grymric was saying, but Grendel was already speaking over him. ‘She’s right, Grymric. The wearling will die if she doesn’t bond soon with an appointed guardian. Grystina was my cousin and friend. I could raise the myss.’

  ‘Excellent. Then it’s settled,’ Gossana said.

  ‘Hold your claws,’ said Grendel, staring her down. The old matrial rustled her wings. The look in Grendel’s eyes was not far short of a call to combat. ‘There is still the question of my honour. Before I can formally accept your terms, I must be sure of the Elders’ approval.’

  ‘And you will have it,’ said Gossana, not quailing in the slightest. ‘I will fly to Prime Galarhade’s settle directly. You will have your decision before the moon rises.’

  ‘Wait!’ cried Grymric.

  ‘What NOW?’ snapped the matrial, in no mood to be impeded again. She already had her wings half lifted.

  Grymric glanced at his precious herbs, but could not find the courage to ask Gossana to walk to the cave edge before taking flight. Instead he said timidly, ‘Your mouth. You’re ailing, I think.’

  ‘Pff! It’s nothing,’ the matrial said. ‘I broke a fang on the back of a catch I was hunting. Trust me, its bones fared worse than mine.’

  She bared her teeth. For a dragon of her age, her teeth were good, blackened but almost entirely intact – apart from one fang on the upper left side, sheared to a slant and as jagged as ice, stained with the red blood of her prey, and the faintest hint of dragon green.

  13

  There was no hope for the herb array. One flap of Gossana’s wings sent the piles into a spiralling cloud. They seemed to take as long to drop as every leaf in the nearby forest.

  The healer sank to his haunches and sighed.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll help you,’ Grendel said, already beginning to pick off the leaves that had settled on her scales. ‘Now Gossana has what she wants, she won’t disturb you again.’

  Grymric gave a grateful nod and began the long process of sorting the herbs into appropriate piles. After a while, he said, ‘I hope she remembers to speak with G’vard. This arrangement is going to anger him, Grendel. The white has pledged to be a guardian to the myss. If the Elders accept Gossana’s proposal, G’vard will be forced to protect a female who sides with a dragon who has caused him pain. Wars have been fought over less. You must go softly around him.’

  She nodded, but raised her head proudly and said, ‘G’vard must think of the Wearle before he thinks of his pain. If he accepts this arrangement nobly, he will still have a little of Grystina to fight for.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Grymric, his eyes heavy with concern. ‘It is vital that a wearling imprints on the father as much as the mother. If G’vard has lingering doubts about his role, it will affect the wearling’s character development. The same applies to you, of course. You cannot allow your feelings for Abrial to confuse the myss. This is a brave commitment, Grendel. Some might even say rash.’

  ‘Your words are kindly noted,’ she said. ‘There is one thing we can be certain of, Grymric. If the myss is not cared for, what hope does she have? Did Gossana say if she had learned her name?’

  Grymric shook his head. ‘I doubt Gossana spoke to it more than she needed to. Grystina may have died before she chose a name anyway. A queen-elect will usually wait until she knows who the father will be, then names her young accordingly. You knew Grystina well. Given the unusual nature of this family, I doubt G’vard would object if you gave the myss a name sympathetic to her mother’s lineage.’

  Grendel glanced at the youngster again. The wearling had at last moved out of the rain. Not only that, it was staring at something on the wall of the cave. ‘Grymric, what’s she looking at?’

  ‘Um?’ The healer turned his head. ‘Oh, the marks. They’re nothing. They were left by the Hom. Th
ey make poor i:mages of themselves on rock. You’ll find similar likenesses in most of the caves around Vargos.’

  Grendel put down her herbs and went to see. On the wall, just as Grymric had said, were some scratchy outlines of Hom figures. They were grasping weapons and chasing an animal. She glanced down at the myss, who was tilting her head and mewing quietly. Grendel circled her tail. With her isoscele, she pointed at the tallest figure. ‘This?’ she asked. She had picked out the fiercest-looking of the Hom, thinking the wearling might be frightened by it.

  The wearling made a graarking sound and brought her tail around as well. She had no triangular scale at the end, just a stub where the isoscele would soon begin to grow. But she could point, and point she did – at a figure without a spear. A figure half the size of the hunting men.

  ‘This one?’ said Grendel, moving her tail alongside the youngster’s.

  ‘Gffrd,’ the wearmyss said, though what actually came out was little more than a grunt. Although dragons learned to speak at an early age, it took them a while to form the most guttural words correctly.

  Grendel was certain all the same that the wearling was trying to tell her something. She called Grymric over and repeated the sound to him.

  ‘Guffred?’ he said, fleshing it out with a vowel or two.

  ‘Gffrd,’ the wearling repeated.

  ‘It sounds like a name,’ the healer muttered, ‘but—’

  ‘Gariffred,’ Grendel murmured suddenly, her gaze drifting slowly into space. ‘Grystina was from the Astrian line. She spoke fondly about her great-great-father, an Elder called…’ She dipped her head towards the young one again. ‘GARIFFRED,’ she repeated firmly.

  ‘Graark,’ said the wearling, almost falling over as she tried to touch the wall.

  ‘I don’t understand what you’re getting at,’ said Grymric.

  But a light was shining in Grendel’s eyes. ‘Don’t you see? It is a name. Grystina must have named the drake after her ancestor.’